


Pricked by your Edge

by MudaMuda



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, M/M, Rivalry, Teikoku Shimaguni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 08:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17403236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/pseuds/MudaMuda
Summary: Pop idols Kiku and Arthur are loners, going solo in their respective careers because they scare off other prospective members with their nasty attitudes. They’re also huge successes in their own right, and work with no one. So when their producers force them to create a single together in the hope of boosting their popularity even more, things get spicy...





	Pricked by your Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Late Happy Holidays to @ Maguro, who asked for islands with guns and swords. I had intended for the story to be serious, but I accidentally made it kind of silly. Which might not be exactly what you expected, but I hope you like it anyway. 
> 
> While I was scouring my mind for teikoku shimaguni concepts, I remembered how much I like the Islandol AU!! I feel like it’s basically nonexistent outside the Japanese fandom, so in case no one reading this has ever heard of it, it’s just Arthur and Kiku as musical pop idols. Usually they’re portrayed as a friendly duo, but I wanted to spice up that relationship with a rivalry and some flashy idol costumes. ;) ;) ;)

Kiku came into the first recording session wearing a black Balenciaga trench coat and a prim attitude. Arthur had never spoken to him before. Not in publicity events, nor photoshoots.

Kiku no doubt went to those kinds of events as well. And what an impression he made. While Arthur’s single currently (and proudly) held the 6th spot in the Pop Top 10 chart, Kiku’s held the 5th, and every other single he’d released had been similarly successful. Clearly, there was a magnitude of talent that rivalled Arthur’s own, or else the producers wouldn’t have thought to have them work together. In the same room. Sharing a recording booth. Several weeks of someone else trying to dictate every aspect of the music, the choreography--

Well. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had had a collaboration with another artist. No doubt, it hadn’t gone well.

Kiku was giving him a look that Arthur was sure was mirrored on his own face-- a downcast, subtly irritated expression.

At the very least, they could be civilized about this.

Kiku slipped off his sunglasses, then shrugged off his coat. Arthur extended a hand to him.

“Pleased to meet you. I hope we can get along,” he said.

Kiku flicked his eyes up at him for only the briefest moment.

“Please try not to get in my way,” he said softly, handing his coat to his attendant.

Arthur tried to ignore the annoyance that twitched up inside him.

“Yes. Very pleased to meet you,” he repeated more quietly, lowering his hand.

\----

Kiku was a man of few words, and that, at least, was a relief.

Throughout the preliminary sound-mixing, he didn’t speak much. When he did speak, he communicated his thoughts with carefully chosen words and phrases.

This was how it was, until they stood in the recording booth side by side.

Rather, this was only the beginning of their hostilities.

Kiku was small up close. Arthur didn’t notice until they were standing close enough to bump shoulders if one of them leant over too far.

His promo photos made him look more gentle behind his mysterious character. He had a soft-looking face and a calm demeanor, but an inscrutable attitude. Something a bit cold and prideful. And Kiku took great pride in his performance, his character, his singing.

His voice was like a dove’s call, smooth and mournful.

‘I don’t want someone messing it up’ is the impression he gave, when he glanced at Arthur as he came in halfway through the first verse, harmonizing with his part of the song.

Like Arthur didn’t take just as much pride in performing, singing, pleasing his fans.

Like he was only second to Kiku.

He didn’t have anything to prove to Kiku, but it was hard, not to want to compete and show off when Kiku was always watching him out of the corner of his eye, judgmentally.

\----

The first time they fought was two weeks after meeting each other. They were forced by obligation to practice the choreography together, and they did. For two weeks.

It was more of the same, every session; catching Kiku looking at him like he had a cockroach living on his face. So Arthur averted his eyes, and kept his attention elsewhere.

After several sessions, Arthur became well-acquainted with Kiku’s slender legs in fitted sweatpants, gracefully stepping through the dance with sharp and practiced movements. This was much more pleasant than having to look Kiku in his haughty face.

To his credit, Arthur didn’t _try_ to sabotage him. But he had to try quite hard to stifle his satisfied laughter when he accidentally turned the wrong way and Kiku stumbled into him.

Apparently, this was enough for Kiku to confront him. He grabbed the remote and clicked off the sound system. He huffed, like he was scolding a child who he had had to tell again and again to behave.

“You’re immature,” accused Kiku.

“And who’s the guy giving me attitude for no reason?” shot back Arthur.

“Just now, you gave me a reason.”

Arthur folded his arms. “I was against this too, so you know.”

“And I was trying to ignore the situation and push through, but it’s like you’re trying to be as annoying as possible,” said Kiku.

“I’m not taking orders from a diva who thinks he knows better than me.”

“You should start, Mister _number six,”_ said Kiku.

 

Kiku was right. He was immature, but it felt good to send him storming out with a split lip.

Somehow, Kiku got a few good hits in as well. As Arthur wiped the blood leaking from his nose, he thought that Kiku hadn’t seemed like the type to throw a punch.

He also thought, with satisfaction, that this would be the end of their short-lived collaboration.

But the producers just scolded them and told them get along or get fired from the company.

\-----

From then on, they disregarded all two-faced politeness, and were hostile.

Aside from situations where they were being televised or interviewed, which required more professionalism, then, the tension simmered as they forced themselves to get along.

Kiku was a good actor. His gentle, tiny smile hid all the disgust in the world.

Arthur could also act, but not quite as well, and Kiku hated him for it. Arthur could feel it, in the tense grip of his hand on his shoulder as they stood for photoshoots, to the harsh click of his pen ringing through the studio.

He couldn’t pin Kiku down. He was, at once, an artist, a spoiled brat, and a dangerous person.

As their time together wore on, Arthur found himself increasingly subject to his strange behaviors and unreasonable expectations.

Such as today, as Arthur was fixing his hair in the private salon, Kiku came up from behind and struck the top of the dressing table with a sword. A literal  _sword._

As Arthur tried to recover from his shock, Kiku stared him down.

“You’re in my way,” he said.

“There’s _another dressing table,_ ” Arthur informed him, aghast. Kiku’s expression became harder.

“This one is mine.”

Arthur continued to gape at the katana that had just carved a notch into the table, centimeters from his hand. He shot a glare at Kiku. Then he got up and moved to the other table.

Of course, the katana couldn’t be real. A real weapon as flashy as the katana would never be allowed on the studio grounds. The only weapons were props.

Or, maybe not, in Kiku’s case. Arthur had heard he practiced kendo. Maybe he’d snuck it in.

 _For what?_ he wondered, sneaking a glance over to Kiku, who was casually applying eyeliner.

He had heard many rumors about Kiku, including his rise to fame. That Kiku was from an elite family, who made their fortune through some clandestine avenue, like being in the yakuza. Or something equally badass.

That was part of Kiku’s charm, Arthur supposed. His public face. He was “cool” and “mysterious”. But it was a mistake to think beneath his exterior he was hiding a soft personality, like he led his fans to believe.

Arthur of course, was no saint either, but at least he wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Not like he cared. Kiku wasn’t his business.

It was fine that they hated each other. Perhaps it was even ideal. It wasn’t good to get too close, in a career like theirs. There was no reason to be friends with him. Their work was their life. The idol business was a competitive industry, and there was no room for sensitivity.

He wondered if Kiku was also scared of getting too close.

\-----

All things considered, the collaboration was an amazing success. Watching the number of sales ticking steadily higher, it was no surprise when a live performance was announced.

Tickets sold out in the first night. Fans came out in record numbers, to see the rival duo give their fateful performance. The entire concept of two unmanageable pop stars actually cooperating long enough to give a performance together was half of what the sales were banking on.

Arthur began to wonder if he and Kiku had been tricked. When had their hatred for each other become a publicity stunt? Where did the line where he legitimately hated Kiku start, and when did his hatred become a performance?

This is what occupied his thoughts the night of the show, as he and Kiku were idling around in the wings of the stage, waiting for their cue. Kiku’s costume was a black uniform with epaulets and a dark half-cape. Ruby droplets dangled from his earlobes. His white-gloved hand rested primly on the hilt of his sword-- fake, this time.

A dapper little imperialist. Arthur thought the costume suited him.

Kiku was sizing him up as well. Arthur’s bright red coat and flashy jewelry cut a sharp contrast to his dark costume.

\----

The show was spectacular, of course. They were professionals, after all, and this meant a lot to their fans.

It came as a surprise to Arthur when Kiku made a mistake.

In the instrumental bridge of the song, their mics had been turned off while they danced through the most challenging part of the choreography. Just a few seconds in, Kiku’s cape caught on one of Arthur’s coat buttons, when he twirled. They got stuck together, tangled up against each other.

Kiku glared at him with murder in his eyes, like it was Arthur’s fault.

However, the fangirls began screaming in the audience, and that was what stopped Kiku from bringing his fist into Arthur’s jaw. But not from Arthur seeing an opportunity, holding him even closer, and dipping him.

“You’re too theatrical,” snapped Kiku in his ear as he was lowered. “This isn’t part of the routine. What are you doing?”

“Should I drop you?” asked Arthur. “It would be funny to watch you sprawl on the floor. It’ll be the first time the oh-so-perfect Kiku has eaten shit onstage.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Kiku through clenched teeth.

“Say it to my face: “hold me tighter”,” said Arthur, tilting Kiku’s chin up seductively, to a chorus of shrieking in the background.

“I’m going to kill you,” hissed Kiku.

So Arthur dropped him, but only briefly. It had the intended effect-- Kiku’s hands reflexively shot up to grab his shoulders before Arthur caught him again.

“That’s funny. You’re actually a bit cute when you’re depending on me,” said Arthur.

“You’re an idiot.”

Kiku’s cheeks had splotched with color, in embarrassment at the intimacy.

“You don’t really hate me. You’re having fun with this,” said Arthur.   
“As if,” whispered Kiku.

“Kiku, admit it. You’re just being difficult because you don’t want to become attached.”

“Like you have any redeeming qualities to _become_ attached to.”

“I’m talented, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be here otherwise. You respect that, right?”

Kiku shook his head. “Talent doesn’t replace an annoying personality.”

“I could say the same about you,” said Arthur, realizing that Kiku had just complimented him, at least partially.

Kiku’s fingers tightened on his shoulders.

“Let me go. We’re going to miss the final verse.”

“Listen,” said Arthur. “We can’t keep this act up forever. We need something new to sell our fans.”

“Why in the world are you talking about this now?”

“Just listen. From a business standpoint, it’ll be more profitable to change our dynamic.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kiku.

The third verse was already halfway over. Arthur’s headset was crackling with the angry voice of the producer, telling him to stop messing around. And he made a decision.

“I wonder how much publicity we’ll pull for an onstage kiss?” he asked.

Kiku’s pupils became very large. His expression was filled with a sudden unsureness. Vulnerability.

But it wasn’t a “no”.

The world moved in slow motion-- the inviting pink halo of Kiku’s lips rising up to meet him; suddenly obscured by darkness at the same moment Arthur leant in to kiss him.

No one saw them kiss, but the softness of Kiku’s lips, the warmth of his tongue, would be imprinted on Arthur’s memory forever.

Kiku kissed back, the passion and adrenaline pulling them both in. Kiku moaned into the kiss, thin and helpless. It was such a pitiful, honest little noise coming from such a strong spirit.

Then it was over, as Kiku pulled away, gasping. Arthur’s heart was loud, drowning out the apology coming over the loudspeaker that there had been a sudden and unknown power outage.

 _Too convenient,_ he thought, as Kiku’s mouth lingered a centimeter from his own, his breath shuddering.

He wanted to kiss him again, and Kiku must have too. The tip of his tongue touched Arthur’s lips in an irrepressible surge of power and lust.

Nothing more happened, however. The backstage workers came to collect them and hurry them out of sight.

Of the two of them, Arthur got chewed out the most, as the instigator of the dangerous stunt, while Kiku stood by, looking infuriatingly smug. But the warm color his cheeks turned when Arthur met his eyes was worth the trouble.

They went back onstage and finished the concert, to massive success.  

The following season, their second single topped the charts.


End file.
